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I raxTv

' II:::^* ^ Poe&al Romance,

FATHER
AMBROSE

>' ^aSS^S^ ' ^ 0^

WILLIAM McDonnell,

AUTHOR OF

**Oiir strange mar **manlta/vefc.

J(t^

lilNTlDSATr:

-1868,-

^..>Mjte.<^la*

"Father Ambrose."

,- «««

A POETICAL ROMANCE

By WM. AIcDONELL, Autor of ''Our Strange Guest" ''Manita" etc.

The lights wern out, the mass wa»»

said,
With hist prayers for the faithful

dead,
The altar was almost in gloom,
The Abbey silent as a tomb,
A lone lamp cast a feeble ray
Where penitents were wont to pray.
Tall clustered columns stood around,
Like guardians watching holy ground;
Above on each there seemed to frown
A mitred image looking down.
And monks in niches stood on high —
With eyes upturned towards the sky ;
And nuna with hands crossed o'er each

bre<ast
Anticipating heavenly rest ;
And pictures of the attints stood where
Oft- contrite sinners knelt in prayer,
Invoking them to intercede
And still for Adam's children plead.
High o'er the altar could be seen
The virgin's image most serene.
And in her arms the Sacred Child
With features exquisitely mild,
And high o'er all, the Cross stood

spread.
The Saviour hanging on it dead ;
Yet on His pallid face a ray
Came floating from the fading day
Ab if it there must ever stay,
Though dimness might be spread

around
That halo o'er His head was found-
In glorious sunlight He wa^ crowned.
And though His Spirit t-Yok its flight
That radiance meant— "I am the

light.
I nm the Sun o'er worlds to shine,
I am the way, the Truth divine.
Pardon through Me must be besought,
By Me Salvation can be brought"—
This is what the faithful taught.

'Twas" evening now, the ruddy sun
Burnished the windows one by one,
And as that orb's declining ray
Within the Abbey found its way,

llie altar seemed a blaae of light
Which faded slowly ere 'twas night.
Add after that the moon 'twould

spem
Would peer in with its gentle beam.
When neither sun nor moon was near
Light would flash from some starry

sphere.
E'en should black clouds make dark

the night
The little lamp still gave its light,
As if 'twere meant that there should

be
Rays round the Cross which all might

see —

Celestial light eternally.
• • • •

How still the place ! No whispered

voW,
Or muttered prayer could be hoard

now.
There in the silent sanctuary
Was seen no ardent devotee,
Nor near each dim confessional
None knelt who wished their sins to

tell;
Nor ling'ring in each silent aisle
No one absolved was seen to smile ;
Nor chosen one with placid face
Staid ling'ring in the holy place ;
No mourner sighing for relief.
No widow pouring out her grief
With hungry orphan by her side.
Who once had been a father's pride ;
No sad one loaded down with care
Was heard to ask for pity there ;
The sorrowful and the oppressed
Came not to beg for peace or resti;
Where crowds of worshippers had been
No saint or sinner could be seen.
'Twas strange the temple now should

be
IVaert(»d by humanity ;
Th) living sremed to shun the place
Exp<)otIii(i( spirit.H to retrace
Their steps airr.in to mother earth
Wh.'Cd sib and shac^o had first their

birth

•1—

And bow Le.cra the. altar here
To drop a penitential tear,
As if toma touls long passad away
Mast beie letuin to weep and pray,
Airl do tliH. jHUanee left umlone
Before full pardon bid been won.
And the lone cburcli was like the home
To which some penitents would come
To cast away all trace of pride
Ere they could meet the sanctified.

Now while the silence was profound—
From far or near there came no

sound —
The lonely temple seemed the gate
At which the fallen would await
Their permit to a brighter state-
And one might fancy that there stood
Before the place a multitude
Of spirltB waiting to be blest
Ere they could enter heavenly rest.
And near the Cross once more to bow
To take a saint's eternal vow.

Just then a moonbeam stole inside,

Ah if a herald from above

Had come to ope the portals wide,

I'rged onward by celestial love.

And then there came a fragrant

breeze,
Aii if fi'om angels in their flight,
Down among roses, flowers and trees,
To banish ev'ry shade of night ;
For quick a flood of moonlight came.
Like rays from Cherubs' glitt'ring

wings.
Or of the soft and subdued flame
That rosy Dawn so gently brings,
Or the mild light of parting day
Which linger's with the sun's last ray
Then soon the echo of a strain
Of heavenly music from afar.
Or concord from some distant star,
Was heard like a melodious rain—
The voice of clouds which had been

near
The precincts of some globe of bliss,
Orantl harmony which all could hear-
Not discord from a world like this.
If ever music touched the heart.
Or gave the eye a tender tear,
'Twas now it did its gentlest part
Soothing the soul from ev'ry fear.
The strain kei)t on, and nearer yet
Mingled with it was heard a voice
With silvery tone none could forget,
One which would lull though not re-
joice.
At times the voice would seem quite
nigh,

And there was sadness in each tone.
At other times 'twas as the sigh
Of one forsaken and alone,
Wa« it some spirit who had left
For joys of earth its native skies,
Then feeling as of bliss bereft
Back to its airy mansion flies.

But hark I The sounds are nearer still
An organ's pleading now is felt,
It', long low tones the bare aisles fill.
Its softer notes tbe heart would

melt.
Then loud but safl, then low again,
Then tremulous, and then in sobs.
The organ, like a thing in pain.
Gives minor music in its throbs ;
Again its voice comes scft and low,
And list'ning ones might think

'twould tell
More than a mortal wished to know.
At last came mingled with the strain
Words which an angel might express
Declaring worldly pleasures vain.
While giving friends a last caress.
The words were these — they softly fell
As bidding all a last farewell

"■ O earth on which my heart was se!t,
I'm urged thy splendours to forget,
And hopes which made thee look so

bright,
And prospects which should meet no

blight-
These, now, alas, seem lost in night,
As fair things soon must pass away,
Like fading light of waning day.
" Farewell great world, adieu to one
With whom 'twas bliss to be alone,
Those who had onoe stood by my side
Now say I am the Churches' bride,
And must in sisterhood abide,
If this is still to be my fate.
For Death I gladly shall awnit.'

Those words so simple told a tale.
How human feeling his the power,
O'er human hearts still to prevail,
In light or shade from hour to hour.
And pious vows may oftert seem
But compacts of a transient dream.
To those who feel they are too strict
And with their happiness conflict.
The song was not a holy hymn
Though sung in church by one alone—
A chant by one whoso hopes were dim
Whose voice had sadness in each tone.

The organ ceased, and then a sigh,
A long breath from a bursting heart,

— 2-

tone

les,

•6tiU

)bs.

Just like a with'ring blast flew by,
Or rushing of a fatal dart.
As silence came again, there stood
A female form in garh of glo.ttii,
Looking down on t'le solitude
Like one who gazed at a tomb
Which hides forever from the view
All that the heart could truly love.
Around which tend'rest feelings grew
And all for which affection strove.
She stood awhile and then bent down
Perhaps to weep, or ple^Bid, or pray,
That soon might come a martyr's

crown.
And all her sorrow pass away.

Some only will rejoice and sing
When skies a:e bright and hearts are

While some, in their last suffering,
Sing dirge-like strains, soft, low, and

sad,
Aa certain birds that ever sigh
Their sweetest notes just ere they die;
' rwa,s thus with her who just had

Bung,
Sue willingly would yield her breath
And let the music of her tonguu
Sound like a last prayer before death.
Her life was lonely, she would leave
Hope, love and joy, all else behind
Yet oft like others she would grieve
To shun bright rays though they

might blind.
A sister of the church had won
From her consent to make a vow
To aid the Faith and be a nun.
Therefore to destiny must bow.
She thoughtlessly the promise made
And Nature's impulses betrayed.
For she had loved, that love ne'er

ceased—
Her heart was fondly still the same.
The one she loved became a Priest
Rather than have her suffer shame
By broken vow, or public blame.
So new it was that here by night.
While others slept, she came alone—
The organ was her great delight-
Rehearsing as it were each tone
She might sing near the heavenly

throne,
And those who chanced to hear the

strain
Might think that some departing soul
A{ pealed once mure to heaven again
To ij'4 rt stored and be made ^hole ,
And tinuencies to sin control.

The midaighb came, that lonely iioiir
When some say spirits have the power
A^ain to visit this sad earth
And see the places of their birth,
xVnd watch the kindred or the foes
They loved or scorned ere last repo.se.
And think of frailties or misdeeds,
Or cruelties from clash of creeds ;
Of hate, or anger which arise
From seeing not with others' eyes ;
Or they may stand by their own

tomb
Where grass is green or wild flow'rs

bloom,
Lijueath which their worn bodies rest
After this earth-life's stormy test;
Perhaps to think how vain that life
With all its struggles, care and strife;
Jiike those who oft return to see
The spots still dear to memory.

But vho are these at this late time
That here before the altar stand ?
The bells have struck the midnight

chime
As if to call some angel band
To witness a religious act.
Some ceremony strict and pure.
Showing the. Church knows ev'ry fact
To prove its teaching shall endure,
Keeping each sacred truth secure.
Two priests are kneeling side by side.
They seem engaged in solemn prayer.
They may be asking that a guide
Shall keep them under heavenly care
While they for a blest home prepare —
The promised mansion bright and fair.
Then one aro£.e, his hair was white.
His age was over four score years.
The other boyish, fair and slight,
With calm eyes, now suffused with

tears,
The older priest was called " The

Dean,"
His lengthened days might soon

bring rest.
For life's viscissitudes had been
To him, like others, a sad test ;
For wav'ring faitii, and dark'ning

doubt.
And human hopes, and mental pride
Conflicted oft with thoughts devout.
Like tempters standing at his side.
He spoke and said, "O Child, O Son—
But pastor now to guide a flock—
A Priest !— to-day you were made

one.
At which Irreverence might mock;
To call you ' Father,' some 'twill shock
To think that n:\ ■ in y.^ats so young

-3-

should be endowed with gifts to teachF*
And have an apostolic tongue ■■<

With power to pardon and to preach,
And teJ your seniors how to pray.
And lead them on the heavenly way.
I heaxd your ordination vow
And; all the prayers for you then said
and saw ihu C(jij«,iegatiou bow
When hands were laid upon your

head,
And when the Bisnop said, "Gro out
And teach the truth in ev'ry land."
One then might fancy saints would

shout
At the espiscopal command.
Oh, dreary is th«; road you take,
I've passed along it many a year,
Al' worldly pleasures you forsake.
For though attractive they appear
Most find them but a glist''ning, tear.

i \ i

He paused, and then the young priest

sighed.
Sighed as if with a bursting heart.
To forfeit life with all its pride
This was to be his future part
Like one who standi mid garden

flow'rs
Breathing their fragrance pure and

chaste.
But doomed to spend his future hours
Within some solitary waste.
He felt how sad would be the

change—
A feeling which had come too late--
He stood in gloom, bow cold and

strange.
Surprised to think this w*as his fate.

!• . . ■ li ; ; ; 1 i|i V

The Dean once more the youth ad-
dressed,
" I have a burden on my soul
To you alone 'twill be confessed
To you, as priest, I'll tell the whole.
As yet no penitent you've heard
Nor listened to a sinner's tale,
Now, as a pastor, be prepared
To hear the sin of one so frail ;
For though I am a priest and dean—
In Holy Orders I rank high—
I feiel that I am still unclean
And must have pardon ere I die.
Soon, soon my fleeting life shall close,
I wish to find a calm repose.
And wish to have a conscience clear
Ere from this life I (disappear.
Oft I've confessed but ne'er revealed
One sin, alas, one blighting blot,
A fault which I have long concealed

A frailty, an accusing spot
Which I have never yet forgot—
But ere I enter the dark grave
Full absolution I shall crave."

He bent his bead and said a prayer,
And his confessor 4id the same,.
Both for confession (did prepare —
Young Father Gabriel blushed with

shame
To see the old Dean to him kneel
In penitential attitude.
And hear what he would now reveal,
Seeking through him beatitude—
For though long thought a bright

church meteor.
The Dean said humbly the Confiteor..
• * * *

" O reverend pastor, as you know.
They call me Father Ambrose here.
On all my blessing I bestow,
And gladly wipe away each tear.
And wiish the world had more of bliss
Thau man has ever found in this.
When I wae in my youthful prime
I scarce gave heed to passing time.
But lived as if each coming day ■
More beautiful would fade away.
That every hour I had to spend
Would bring fresh pleasures without

end.
Memento came bursting up like flow'rs
That formed the canopy of bow'rs
Near which I would delig(ht to stray,
Siriji{i,g Hom.! cheerful roundelay;
Life see me it a garden of delight —
Roses by day, and stars by night.
With soli lovv- winds and fragrant air.
And bluuhing beauty everywhere ;
And trees and hills, and murmuring

streams.
Kissed ty sui 'a rays, and mild moon-
beams.
Led me to thiJik that earth was all
That man a paradise might call.
Indeed 'twas so lik« heiaven to me.
No heaven I thought could fairer be,
Nor would I care for one more bright
Or beautiful to mortal sight.
Of angels I'd been often told
Who could their glittering wings un-
fold.
And from aerial heights descend
To be man's gentle guide and friend ;
To wa^rn of evil in the way.
And be a guardian night and day.
Oh how I wished that one of these
Would steal near me from 'mong the
trees, . ,

—4-

Alighting in the pleasant grove
Where oftentimes I loved to rove.
And fancy some bright creature nigh,
Whose smil.' could chase away a sigh
Ere homeward to the skies 'twould fly.
One day— that day I'll ne'er forget—
I thought I had an angel met.
1 was alone and in a bow'r
Where oft 1 sat at sunset hour,
Thinking, as I had times before,
Of what my future had in store,
And as upon such thoughts I dwelt
A lovely creature outside knelt
To pluck a rose— then in her hair
She placed it with a modest air,
Au if it might with her compare.
Like passing radiance she came near,
Which caused a momentary fear,
Lest she should see me and take flight,
Leaving the day almost like night,
Hut soon I saw she had no wings —
She sung — the sound came as if strings
Of harp were struck at distance far.
Faint as an echo from some star.
Or like the musio, it is said,
Cherubs oft make as day has fled,
Heady to greet the rising ray
Of gentle Luna on her way.
Her head was splendid, and her eyes
Ulue as the clear celestial skies ;
Her face and form were wondrous fair,
iiike sunbeams hung her auburn hair ;
Her look and smile were so serene
.Just as if she were Beauty's queen;
She scarcely looked a thing of earth-
More like, perhaps, of heavenly birth.
This was at first my transient thought
Which "wond'ring fancy quickly

brought.
How foolish now the impulse seeniR,
An<l how extravagant the dreams
Which led me then to think I hat she
Was more than mortal e're could be —
This at the time I did believe —
My senses scarcely could deceive.
She seemed so beautiful and bright,
And radiant as if formed by light.
Who if not quite an angel, all.
Was one of those who ne'er could fall.
E'en of the kind, saints might assert,
More fit for heavon than for earth-
She passed— I could not stay behind,
To olher objects I was blind.
So sudden was her image pressed
Upon my heart, I could not rest,
That when she moved from out my

sight
'Twould bring deep gloom, the flowers

might blight.
And the fair bovver I oft would seek

Might look, when she Was gone, so

bleak.

m * * *

Such were my feeling^ as I left
To follow her — aimoet bereft
Of prudent thought — at last she stop-
ped
In a fair garden and she dropped
Her kerchief as sh", went along —
Then, with a su.i(l:>n impulse strong,
I quickly snatched it from the ground
And hurried to her with a bound.
And Oh, what bliss, when at her side
1 offered it with happy pride.
She took it ius if 'twere a gift.
Her eyes to mine she scarce did lift
But smiled and thanked me with sueh

grace
And blushed while I gazed at her

face.
If then from Imaven an angel came,
And called me fondly by my name.
To have me look away from her,
I could not from her presence stir.
Ah me, I scarcely know the way
I spent an hour with her that day-
Moments like sparks from the sun's

ray—
Nor can I yet remember how
I spoke to give my parting bow.
I left as if I had left light
To ijieet th'> gloom of sudden night."

We parted but to meet again.
To keep from her I tried in vain.
She chided not, but ever grew
More pleased at ev'ry interview.
1 met her day by flay for weeks —
(Wheii trua Jo. a comes it ever speaks)
We to each other vows did plight,
To be kept till eternal night.
I was a student, this she knew, —
My mother h.ul th:'. church in view.
She prayed lor uio and never ceased
To dedicate me as a priest ;
I, as her firpt born child, must be
Her free gift to tha Trinity.
Sh(; was an ardent devotee,
For allar service therefore trained,
All priestly duliv-s were explained,
Still the.s ', gfave ni" the least concern,
I was quite willing all to learn,
Nor thought that they would interfere
With joys that make one hivppy here.
To make my parent more content
Most cheerfully I underwent
Whatever courses were thought best,
To fa.sti, or pray, or work, or rest ;
Each ceremonial was to me
Nought but a /quaint formality.

-s-

I heard of martyrs and of saints,

Of heresy and its foul taints,

Of Pope, and Church, being so supremo

Other's pretentions but a dream ;

Yet trilling all these things did seem.

In truth I gave no serious thought

Ab to what priest liood meant or

brought,
I was quite willing just to be
Whate'er my mother chose for me,
Alas, reserving ne'er to part
Willi her who heid my soul and heart
Though she was of another ci'eed
She trusted me in word and deed.
For her, 'gainst all I would have striv-
en,.
For her I'd forfeit earth or heaven ;
For her I'd leave all else beside —
Ella was pledged to be my bride.

O, what blest dreams I had that time.
My future looked almost sublime.
With every hour fresh beauty came —
Moments like sparks of heavenly flame.
Uainbo.vs by liay, moonbeams by

night,
lirighc !•• urs felicitous in flight.
Where'er 1 v c n' the skies were blue,
Ijike Ella's eyes, so soft and true.
The world seemed fair and without

guile
Like flow'ra, or more like Ella's smile,
And music bade my heart rejoice,
As Ella's song, or Ella's voice.
Oft as we wandered side by side
1 felt the ecstacy of pride,
The beauteous earth waa then to me
A region of felicity;
The air she breathecl could me entice —
Fragnint like that of Paradise.

Yet strange, dear Ella- never knew
My mother's wish nor her intent —
That priesthoo<l was for me in view,
Or for that purpose months were

spenti
Of this to Ella I ne'er spoke.
In me she had such boundless trust.
That not a doubtful thought awoke
To fancy I could be unjust.
And, still more strange, I felt quite

free.
While thus boing for the altar trained,
Never to dream celibacy
Could my intention have restraine.d.
I strove to think 'twas a mere vow
Which might be kept or cast aside —
A dispensation might allow
A priest to live with his own bride—
For priest^ lived so in former days

Without reproach for wicked ways.

No matter still, but come what may,

I was determined that my life

Should be lit by one blessed ray

To shine when Ella wiJia my wife.

Infatuated I might bev

But my resolve must promptly tell

That in a bond of purity

With one fair angel I must dwell.

Time (luickly passe<l, alas, how quick,

My ordination day drew near.

With thoughts of that my heprt grew

sick,
Of that bleak rite I had a fear.
At times I seemed like one amazed-
Days of unrest, night without sleep,
Hrooding and doubting like one crazed
Iteady to plead, or pray, or weep.
Like some poor bird ascending high
While lurking storms were in the air
I looked up at the distant sky
But saw black clouds were gathering

there.

I must act B(K)n, nor longer wait,
Ntot mine alone, but Ella's fate.
Depended on my prompt resolve
That nought our compact should dis-
solve —
What happiness it might involve.
Now to succeed I must defy
All plana and on myself rely,
By list'nlng to e.-ich sage advice
I'd lose all chance of paradise.
Nor ever enter that retreat
Where only kindred spirits meet.
To choose the church, with rays so

bright,
I'd lose the star that gladdened

night;
That star of Hope ii;o me so dear —
What gloom if it should disappeap
Why banish from Life's clouded way
The light th.at cheered by night or

day—
For Ella's love was thsit l)lest ray.
One placid eve — 'twas some saints'

feast.
Many from work and laooi* ceased.
We met and visited the bow'r
Where we had oft a pleasant hour,
T lie re vv>' agreed next day to be
Ifnited— but most privately,
A rev'rend Protestant v>'Ould do
To keep this from my parents' view —
I dreaded to be called "untrue,"
I gave her reasons this to show
That but few trusted friends should

know
That we hdd married— had I said

_6-

My mother would not have mc wed;
IPTf that the Church might interferji,
Ellu perhaps might have .i tear
That there wiia some inysterioas bar
Conjugal happiness to mir.
Yet if a doubt she chanced to raise
I'd ]'v\jfi',i, uti.'. only gain her praise.
However, she did not object,
Nor for a m<-)fnent once suspect
That I could any way deceive
Or say whtt she could not believe.
She felt assured that I was free
With her forever more to be.

The next day came — what bliss or woe
It brought, a few wordd more will

show, '
We married, and, oh halcyon hours,
Oh days of sunshine and of fl.nv'rs !
No happier time vt^as ever spent
By man beneath God's firmament—
To purchase heaven or paradifie
Were cheaply bought at such a price.
If ever angel came to dwell
With erring man I felt the spell
Which Ella cast around my life
Since I could claim her as my wife.
The earth seemed changed ard all was

now.
Beauteous aa ever met my view.
Days, each a nev.- star in life's sky,
Dawned as if ne'er to fade or die.
Hours came like flashes from the wings
Of Love in its bright wanderings.
At morn, or noon, or eve, or night
Some fresh joy came, some new de-
light.
My tiusting mother still believed
I in the seminary lived
In preparations 1 must make
Ere I ecclesial vow should take,
Yet .still, unknown to her, I dwelt
With Ella in most blest content,
Ntor did the future bear in sight
A cloud to .shadnw my delight.
'Twas mo.stly .sunshine round our w.iy.
Moonbeams by night with starry ray.
If rj'in, then soon would come in view
Some rainbow with each beauteous

hue.
We seemed to live like garden flow'ra
Happy 'neath sunlight or 'neath
show'rs.

A few months passed, then shadows

. came,
I felt like one condemned to .shame,
I trembled a.4 the day drew near
When as a priedt I should appear.
Oh, what a shock 'twould be t3 her—

Ella a startled sufferer —
Doomed by my act to lead a life
Not as a widow or a wife,
Hut one for.sakeri without citu.se,
Divorced as by the Church's laws,
The part 1 acted seemed insane,.
I locked for hopi>, but looked in vain,
While she— des'^r ted— whit a late
And what remjbrse must mi await.
I might escapi'- 1 lu n wiiy not flee
\nd rush from such a destiny.
But I felt sure as I drew bie.iih
To lice would cau.se my mothers death.
Take either eourse, cliouse which I

may.
Disaster lurked around my way ;
The flower 1 loved, when thai storm

spread.
Must fade and drobp its beateous he. id.
Poor Ella, constant to the l!.st.
Would shrink and wither in the blast.

My mother pressefi — i w I away,
l''or close was now the fateful day
When in the church I must appear
And leave the one to me .so dear.
I made excuse, bade her adieu —
She knew not what 1 had in view.
I told her I might soon return,
That ,s.oe should not my absence mourn.
She wept, and when I s«iw her tears,
Then came despondency and fears.
I felt like one who leaves the light
To be engulphed in sullen night.
And, oh, what agony to part
With her ^vho had my soul and heart.
My hopes of happiness seemed fled,
Ab if she lay before me dead.
I was ordained, and then I stood
In church among the multitude.
Ere hands were laid upon my head
My priestly 'vows I sadly said,
I wore the vestments like a pall.
And trembled fearing I should fall.
The organ sent a mournful sound.
While muttered prayers were heard

around.
And my chilled heart felt as if dead —
I scarcely heard the words then sai<l.
The lights, th- sunshine, and the glare.
Seemed like accusing spirits there.
When all was o'er, and I a priest,
I felt that I 'mong all was least.
The least in manhood, least in power.
Else why have brought this evil hour.
Else why have blighted one pure life
And bring such hopeless care and

strife.
'Twas then I wished that friendly

Death

-7-

Would still my pulse and stop my

breath.
I stoorl ag.'iin, looked a", if dazed
Uncertain whore I was— amu.zed.
I heard the sounding bells outside,
Which many listened to with pride,
And heard, 'Dominus vobis cum' —
My tongue v,-as parched, and I wat

dnmL,
I could noL to these word:! resijond,
JM.v niinl wuh far from Ihere — beyoml
The c'huich iud dedicating scene,'
r?uL in that bovver where oft Id Ijeej^i
With hti— Alas, .sh;' \v;is not theri.
And ih. ■• my eyes elosi'.d in despair,
! cried with feeling ominous
Oh Miserere ia?A 13l?us.'

'.''hen cam! my mother with delight

She ki.ss'^d nie, but I lost my night,

I fell and f;«int;Ml in her arm.

Nor heard aught of tlu! quick alarms.

The bishop and lb; priests fell dread

That my frail spiiit must have fled.

To the Sacristy I vvaa borne.

And of my alb and vestments f:horn,

1 soon revived — How like a dream

My ordination act did seem, i

The clergy in resplendent guise

Like apparitions met my eyes

Was I in heaven ?— But where was

hIk;,
My angel, my divinity ?
Wnre I in Eden — she not lluue
I'd leave to seek for her elsewhere.
With my dim Si'.as' I would have

strlv'n
To say that wheie she dwelt was

heuv'n.

Then afte." this I pensive lay
In fcv'rish stupor day by day.
While oft awake by lonely night.
Longing for hnr lo greet my sight,
I felt bowed by oppressive thought
That I such sorrow should hav»>

brought.
As if it wantonly I sought
My mother , aided by a nun.
My injured hi^alth buck slowly won.
Oft, w^hile recov'ring, sat outside
Feeling remorse — not priestly pride,
And Ibinking sadly now of all
That to dear EU'i might befall;
Thiiikinf? how T mipflit e^trifcate
'I'hat loved one from a haple..3 fate.
Am thus I thought, one <iay thore

came
A messenger— T knew her name.
She placed a letter in my hand,

And left ere I could words command.
'Twas Ella's writing— 1> en a chill
(yame quick beforo I had the will
To read a Tine of what she sent
For I felt humbled, penitent—
And would have years in penance
spent,

Some one at my ordination
Wrote and gave her a relation
Of all that in the church took place
When I my pledges did efface.
How, with affected pious look,
I macie the vow, and kissed the book.
And i^v.'ore I ever would obey
My ;).i stly rulers ev'ry v/ay.
Of ht ,v f left a faithful spouse.
And gave the church uio-jt sacred vows,
Resiguing her lo take a place
'Mong priests dispensing heav'nly
grace.

I pau.-od and at the letter gazed
Like one in doubt— almost amazed;
With tit mbling hand at last I broke
The seal, and to my state awoke—
A blow came like a mortal stroL:.
I broke the seal and sadly road
Words, like words coming from the

a^ad,
Just w>it ien ere thi*- spirit fled.
A few short verses, each a spell.
As if each struck a parting knell,
Like 5ome deep solemn sounding bell,
Sounding a long, a last farewell.

" 'Tie close of day, alone I stand,

jjooking at c'iffs and mouiit.iins grand.

And gazing out upon the sea,

Which seems so like eternity;

And in the distance I espy

A faint star glim'ring in the sky

I gaxo alone— thou art not nigh.

'VMone I am— but whore art thou
Who won my heart by many a vow.
For oft as tliou wert by my side
T looked on thee as my heart's pride.
AVhere art thou now? — Alas I see
Thoa'rt minist'ring Faith's mysto-y
Forc;^^tf-il of thy faith to m:\

'T sh:\ll not stny thy course- remain,
jJroi'th'- nrayers— oft thou wilt pray

in r,". in,
ir vhou r 'nst worship at a shrine
Which iy not human, though d vino,
T still must act a human part,
(for T have but a woman's heart-
Oh that thine were its counterpart!

—8—

"Fade day, fade ILglit, fade my dull

sense,
Shadows any bring me recompense.
I would forget and v/elcome gloom,
Even suggestive of tha tomb,
While thou art in the midst of light
My wearied spirit may take flight-
It will— "arewell, a last good night."
• • • •

And this was all — O God what woe I
Each word 1 read seemtjd like a blow,
One which I felt 1 had deserved -
No fiend could have been better served.
I tried to rush out from tha place
My wronged, my patient wife to trace,
Alas, I scarce could move— I knelt.
Vowed yet to find out where she dwelt,
Nor church, nor Pope, should hinder

me,
On my head be the infamy,
My heart 'gainst discipline was steeled.
To no authority I'd yield.
I could not blame the church, 'twas I
Who law and rule first did defy.
With madden'd brain I almost cursed,
And priestly bonds I would have burst
To join the one I loved the most,
I sought for her — 'twas labor lost,
No trace of her could then ba found.
Though search was made far, far,

around,
Yet oft I m?et hpr in my dreams,
But then so spirit-like she seems
That near her I cannot approach,
Timid lest sha should me reproach.
Yet ihri. dear xp'rit seems to live,
And smileB as if she could forgive
For once I tiiought I heard her sing
A soft chide at my wandering—
A tender, touching reprimand.

blessed shade I could we but meet
I'd bow and worship at thy feet,

1 still have hope when this life's o'er >
To meet her and-prirt no more; — ^

Ah, many years have passed away
Since that sad hour, that fntal day,
When Ella, shedding tender tears,
Sighed with premonitary fears;
For even then I scarce could think
Of our last parting 'twtas the brink,
And thai I ne'er again should see
That angel form so dear to me.

She, lett alone, used uo device
Back from the church me to entice,
But made a grand self-sacrifice.
EmbarratMS me tshe would not do.
But I waB let my course pursue,
" With sorrow deep I now confess

How could I rest ? Nor night nor day,
That course brought me no happiness.
From out my mind was she away,
Her image in my heart shall rest
Till Death its latest pulse shall test.

"Time has sped on, of late I heard
News of tha lost one which I feared
Fci many years, almost alone,
'Mong strajigers she lived little known,
She had. not wealth, but yet was free
From want by fair economy.
She had a daughter— her delight,
(May sh3 still live to glad my sight,)
She trained her, as a mother should,
And did for her all that she could —
A comfort in their solitude.
Yet Ella's life was one of grief,
Her earthly happiness was brief—
A clouded mind brought har relief,
V\'ben once her sturdy reason fled
She spoke of me as one long dead,
As if my life was all that m.ide
Life dear to her I had b.'t rayed.
And spoke of me in tend'rast strain
How I htjd never caused her pain
But was in heav'n, where I should be
Awaiting her most anxiously.
At timsft she restless soon became
An-l pi >a<lingly would oall my name.
And beg that I, at evening hour,
W?jul:l incut her in that favorite bow'r
Wiei J o'c we met in days long past,
In bliss toc' exquisite to last.

■ Sad soul, she mov'd from placa to

place,
VVand'ring at times with pleading face.
Struggling with memory to trace
Some vision of fcer early years.
Then failing,' she would burst in cears,
Iler daughter Agnes, fondly true.
Did for her all a child could do.
Yet still 'twiis on her stricken mind.
That somewhere onward she could

find
Me,, who had brought her to that

stat '!—
One who hud doomed her such a fate.
She further to a convent went
And time in search of me she at>ent,
Wearied at last her search must

cease —
Her mind got clear ere her release,
She named my name before decease,
Then in that convent died in peace.

"O God, If on her distant ^rave

I could but kneel and paruon crave*:

And ease my mind of doubt and fears,

-9-

By dropping penitential tears
Upon her sacred place of rest
I'd wajider far to give this test
Which struck her like a javelin,

Ellci, in thy blest retreat
May we at last together meet !

•'Her bereaved child alone was left.
But not of sympathy bereft.
The gentle nuns the orphan took
And shielded Agnes thus forsook,
They soothed her grief, and gave her

hope, /

Nor let her sorrow ha-ve full scope:
And taught and trained her as they

bould,
Most suitably for womanhood.
Then after this, in course of time.
Impressed, her with their fa.ith sub-
lime,
Induced to join their sisterhood,
She did so out of gratitude;
And I've been told that to this day
She is inclined with them to stay
In that lone convent far away;
For she long heard that 1 was dead.
And masbeti for my soul were said.
Her prayers for me have never ceased—
She never knew I was a priest.
She might come here my grave to

seek —
Of that I scarcely need to speak,
But should I find her dwellina

place '

She'll gc^t a father's fond embrace;
Oh, may I live that diay to see.
Then from this world I'd gladly flee..

"After I left my stricken wife.
She moved afar to cause no strife,
When I no trace of her jcould find.
Being most unhappy in my mindj

1 was removed from my first charge
And sent ambassador at large.

To greet her soon I shall [wepare.

This was my wish, and, by commandi

I lived in many a foreign land.

Doing such duties as I could

In cities or in solitudes.

And only lately I've returned

(To meet my child my heart haa

burned).
For God I think will grant my prayer.
To greet her soon I shall prepare
Soon as 1 clasp her to my breast
I'd leave for my eternal rest.
Nor wish to stay a moment more.
As my affliotions have been sore^i
Gladly I'd seek that last repjso.
To be released from human woes."

This is the sin I would confess.

O rev'rend priest, absolve and bless.

The young priest mused and thought

awhile.
Then gently, with a pitying smile
Said, " Father, you've had sorrow-
deep.
And for your failings I could weep.
Your case is rare and deeply said.
Of your repentance heav'n is glad.
God, who is ever true and just.
Will give you pardon — and 1 must.
Hard has been your retribution.
Now I give yo/U absolution.
Fervent, and then, with hands out-
spread,
"Signo te signo crucis," said.
And words to cheer the penitent —
All that full absolution meant—
The time by '^oth was wisely spent.
Still Father Ambrose knelt and wept.
Thinking of that sin so long kept.
Thinking of how, for long, long years
That sin had brought him grief and

tears;
That though the church might grief

assuage.
That sin still stood on mem'ry's page.
Repentance has its power to bless.
But never brings forgetful ness,
The arrow which once pierced a heart.
Though broken now, still caused a,

smart.
While crim3 may seek oblivion's wave,
Wlrong is but hidden iu the grave."

'Twas late, the priests rose to retire.
Each leaving with a strong desire
That all should feel the church's power
When prostrate in the dying hour.
And prayed the saints to intercede
For erring man in the hour of need.
Oft it is said, and some believe.
Spirits for wicked kindred grieve.
While others say, they kno>v full well.
The saved rejoice o'er those in Hell,
Yet man5', shocked by such a thought.
Say Purgatory is the lot
Of th.jye not in a state of grace.
Who die ere penance can efface
Thf venial sins which brought disgrace,
To God all sins must be alike.
There souls for periods may remain
Till they are cleans'd from ev'ry stain
And cancelled truly every sin,
Ere they can heav'nly life br^in.
Yet some philQsophers assert

— 10 —

»t,

rs
Id

fo.

rt,
a

re,

er
d.

11.

e,
n

That all such thoughts have had their

birth,
In minds of egoistic men-
Deluded visionaries when
Claiming inspired tongue or pen.
That their presumption is supreme,
And immortality a dream.
Some say such dreams bring more de-
light ) >
Than thoughts of an eternal night
Far those who toil with care intense,
In hopes of future reoomflpense, c
Struggling in faith, when life is o'er,
To' live whiere they miay weep no more.

But liet ! There coines a heav'nly

strain —

The organ's tones soft, low and sweet.

Like angel's whispers heard again,

As if they would sad mortals greet.

And then a voice distinct and clear

In touching aym^thetic strain.

As one to bring prophetic cheer.

Made "Sursuna corda," it s refrain.

'^"Lift up yours Iieartslin3~8eek a honfe.

Where eotrow clouds noit day by day.

Where disappointments never come.

Nor happiness e'er fades away.

Come where the weaxy are at rest.

And troubles to the humble cease;

Come where no creature is oppressed.

And all from care shall find releasei

Lift up your hearts and there fiml

peace,

Peace, peace, sweet, peace, eternal

l)eace."
» ^■

With glad ear Pathtu" Ambrose hoard
The wards of that soft, soothing song,
As if they were for him prepared
To tell hisi stay should not bs long.
Then overcome, he prayed and wept,
And thought af her^onely grave ''^
Was cmong strangbrs" miere she

slept,
Where drooping willows o'er herwaye.
Oft touching were the sighs they give.
While thus he thought, there came in

view
A nun, she kuelt close by his ?ide—
'Twas she who from the organ drew
The strains which filled the temple

wide,
Though late the hour, she now wis

seen
Ga;eing upon the Dean's pale fac.»,
While with h?r vail sh™ tried to screen
Her features in that hojy place.
The two priests s'lw her with surprise

.Vt

Just like an apparition there.

As if one came each to advise

And fotr a better world prepare.

At last she spoke, and with bowed head

Addressed the venerable Dean,

"O rever'nd Father, oft 'tis said
That dreams are sent, and often mean,
To bear a message from the dead,
A vivid dream I've lately had,
Though not the first, yet one most

sad.
And from its tendency infer
You can be its interpreter,"
Then, with a lovely voice and sigh
Said, "Years ago my parents died —
My mother— tender was the tie;
In her I took the fondeat pride,
If ever saint was on this earth,
And patient suffering the proof,
She might b3 called a saint from birth,
Her Botrrow came for my behoof;
She died far from her native place.
Beneath a convent's sacred roof.
I never saw my father's face,
We thought him dead— the nuns moatl

kind.
Cared for me, and their love I won.
No orphan better friends could find,
lime- fled, and I became a nuu—
Soon to regret what I had done.
The reason I need not explain,
'Tis one that ever may give pain.
Then came these dreams, and I was

told
I should come here to this strange fold.
To meet with you, as you could tell
All of my father, you knew well.
If aught of him you can relate.
Oh tell m3 of his state — or fate,
t,To se;^ you, a nd th an— so on a way / l_
tia vl ng I h u 9 "spote,"^ ^e"~raTseaner

veil,
The priests then started with sur-
prise,
Emotion they could not conceal,
The Dean exclaimed— "There's Ella's

eyes !
Great God, her face and form I see !-
'Tis her child Agnes— come embrace,
I am thy father, come to me.
Your mother in yourself I trace,
Revealed is now the mystery."

The trembling D<>an thought first with

fear,
As h«' looked on the black-draped form,
That his dt-parted wife was near.
The likenpss was so strong and clear —
Her perfect self with feelings warm,

■ -II—

Then he excited grasped her hand,
And kissed h?r cheeks ere she could

move,
With impulse ha could not command,
Urged otn by strong paternal love,
^ And tenderest ties close interwove,
'"'The young priest now gazed just like
one
Who me-'ting thus with her once loived,
Found that his heart was not a stone,
For its fast beating pulses proved
The tender passion was not gone,
Though uselessly that passion moved,
Agnes embarrassed vainly tried
To seem indifferent at the time,
And curb the sense of maiden pride,
She had ones hid felt in other days,
When, with a love almost sublime,
She sought to win the smile and praise,
<Of him ishe here now recognized
In priestly garb, as if disguised,
She felt how fatal was the vow.
Which held him bound as she was

now —
A bond to which they both must bow,
•Some moments passed, a mutter'd

prayer
WaB heard, the old priest bant bis

head,
And with closed eyes seemed to pre-
pare
To meet, n dear beloved one dead,
He spoke a name— "O Ella be
'With me once more in this last hour,"

He smiled us if felicity

Came to him with oblivious power.

Patiently waiting his release.

He i)owed and smiled as if at peace, ■

Just then thi Dean relaxed his hold

Of Agnes' hand, and backward fell,

She screamed, she saw his look grow

cold.
With death- like symptoms she knew

well.
Her father's spirit passed away.
As deep tolled the cathedral bell
Just at the dawning of the day;
Those praying heard the solemn knell;
But why it then tollea none could tell.

There is a resting place afar.
Where oft is s?v?n l>y solemn night.
The rays of the fair evening star.
Mingled with moonbeams softly bright
Shining upon a lonely tomb.
Beneath which two sleep side bj' side,
By day sweet flow'ra around it bloom,
And many pilgrims seek that spot
Where Father Ambrose rests in

peace.
And pray that it may be their lot.
As years pass on, and cares increase.
Like him to have their troubles cease.
Still D,ft is seen with brow of care
Poor Agnes by that grave in prayer;
And roses oft are scattered round
On Father Gabriel's holy ground.

^ ^

— la—

111.

111;
III.